Welcome to Camelot
by HP-Forever-XX
Summary: A faulty Time-Turner. A handsome prince. A HUGE problem. A nineteen-year-old Hermione finds herself transported back to Medieval England, where she soon encounters the fantasy, the myth, the legend that is Arthur Pendragon. But things, particularly with regards to her knowledge of the warlock, Merlin, are not as they seem.


_**Author's Note:** The faulty Time-Turner is cliché, I know, and there's a lot of unexplained logic. But that's not the important part of the story, so just go with it—it's just a plot device to set the story :)_

 _With regards to the logistics of the HP Universe during the Medieval Period, my fanfic might contradict it, I'm not sure. Off the top of my head, I don't know if Hogwarts already exists or if the Founders are alive (I know it's been mentioned a lot that Merlin supposedly attended Hogwarts as a Slytherin), and if that's the case, again, just go with it. This story is set in the world of Merlin, so canonically, I'm sticking to the facts laid out from that._

 _This story would take place around the end of Series 1 of Merlin, and if you're wondering why I only refer to Gwen as 'Guinevere' it's because, to my knowledge, Arthur always uses her full name in the series._

 _Enjoy!_

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 **Welcome To Camelot**

The Time-Turner slipped from her hand. The glass shattered as it hit the cobbled path beneath, the fragile golden chaining breaking immediately, rendering the object completely useless.

But Hermione felt no despair. The damage was already done.

For five years, she had not touched the time-travel device. It had only ever been for such trivial things anyway, completely harmless. Upon returning to Hogwarts for her Seventh Year, to make up the year lost when hunting for Voldemort's Horcruxes alongside Harry and Ron, she had been pleasantly surprised to rediscover it at the bottom of her trunk.

Untouched for five years, completely forgotten by both herself and those who had permitted her to have it, Hermione supposed she should return it to the Ministry of Magic. She no longer needed it, and although she was perhaps one of the most sensible and responsible witches of her age, it _was_ an incredibly complex and dangerous object, and was probably safer in the hands of those with more authority than her.

And yet, as those first few months of the year passed by, Hermione found herself increasingly unable to give it up. It was difficult to explain, but she found what she could only describe as comfort in it.

For the first time in her life, Hermione found herself without her two best friends by her side. For the first time in her life, she felt truly safe at Hogwarts. There was no threat of danger; no mystery to be solved; no adventure to be had.

It was, to her great surprise, incredibly dull.

The Time-Turner brought her a sense of reminiscent nonchalance, reminding her of a past that now felt so distant to her. More than often she found herself holding it late at night, running her thumb over the hour glass, or letting the delicate chain fall freely through her fingers.

How easy it would be to turn the little dial on the side…

And then, one day, she had.

Just once—just an hour. It was late at night, and Hermione was alone. In hindsight, Hermione now realised how incredibly _beyond_ stupid it was. Travelling back in time just for an adventurous kick? That was precisely the kind of thing that got wizards locked up in Azkaban.

And it wasn't like she'd had any real purpose or goal—she didn't intend to _do_ anything with her extended hour. It had been a whim. Just something, _anything_ , to give her some excitement. And what was more exciting than travelling back in time?

If only she'd known, after years of inactivity, the Time-Turner was faulty.

Hermione pushed herself up from the ground where she'd fallen, the cold stone digging into her palms. She felt disoriented after her tumble through time. But just how far back had she gone?

To her horror, the hourglass had continued spinning at a rapid rate, the dial on the side somehow jammed so that Hermione found herself travelling back not just one, but possibly hundreds of hours.

Panic had set in. Minerva McGonagall's piercing voice echoed inside Hermione's mind with the warning she'd given her the first day Hermione had been entrusted with the device. _The longest period that may be relived without the possibility of serious harm to the traveller, or to time itself, is around five hours._

Hermione's surroundings had blurred into nothing more than a swirling kaleidoscope as she found herself hurtling through time, unable to make any sense of her whereabouts. Until, rather suddenly, she'd hit the ground with a thud, the Time-Turner slipping from her hand.

Now on her feet, Hermione looked around, with the awful realisation of what had happened sinking in. She was no longer in her dorm room, but outside, on an old-fashioned cobbled path. Except it wasn't merely a path, she noticed, but rather part of a stone bridge leading directly to a castle.

Only, to her absolute horror, that castle was _not_ Hogwarts.

Her mouth fell open in disbelief. "Oh my—"

"Halt! Whoever you are, don't move a step. This bridge is unauthorised to peasants, and if I find out you're attempting to enter the castle without permission, then I'll be more than happy to escort you to the _dungeons."_

At the arrival of such an authoritative figure, Hermione immediately grabbed for her wand, which was concealed inside her cloak, but she suddenly froze before pulling it free. It was entirely possible that this man was a Muggle. And even though she feared she'd travelled back an inconceivably unwise amount of time, she wasn't sure Muggles of _any_ time period were supposed to be exposed to magic.

Warily, Hermione surveyed the man who'd approached her, slowly removing her hand from inside her cloak, wand untouched.

He was older than her, certainly, but still fairly young, perhaps just on the brink of maturation. Tall, broad-shouldered, with fair hair, piercing blue eyes, and a very defined jawline, Hermione was slightly unsettled by how classically handsome this stranger was. He had a kind and youthful face, but there was a fierceness in his eyes which prevented her from feeling at ease.

But it was neither his attractiveness nor his glare that most caught Hermione's attention; it was his attire.

This young man was dressed in a red cotton shirt, loose and rather old-fashioned, plain brown trousers, the kind of boots you'd expect Robin Hood to wear, and, most startlingly, a broad leather belt, equipped with a genuine longsword.

Hermione could do nothing but gape. It had never even crossed her mind—never registered as a remote possibility—that the Time-Turner could take anybody _that_ far back. And though he was noticeably younger (and far more clean-shaven) than the paintings and such she'd seen at Hogwarts, she felt an overwhelming conviction that this man was _Godric Gryffindor._

Everything, from his stature to his expression, seemed to her to be the epitome of Gryffindor. Could it really be him? Godric Gryffindor, _in the flesh?_

"Identify yourself," he ordered, his tone unforgiving and his glare unmoving.

Hermione was at a loss for words. How to explain her situation? "I—I'm so sorry," she stuttered, "I never meant to intrude, I just—"

"I asked you to identify yourself."

Hermione eyed the sword a little cautiously. She cleared her throat, desperately trying to appear confident. "My name is Hermione."

"And what business do you have in Camelot?"

Hermione gasped so violently, she was temporarily short of breath. "I—I'm sorry?" she asked, her voice rising to an almost inaudible squeak.

The young man she was convinced was Gryffindor looked almost amused. His hostile façade was quickly melting, perhaps as he came to realise Hermione wasn't exactly much of a threat. Her cheeks flushed with colour as she realised how pathetic she must seem. But surely she must have misheard?

"Well," he grinned, "I assume you didn't stumble upon it by accident. You're not local, are you?"

"No," Hermione said dismally, "not at all…"

"So surely you came to Camelot with intent? I'm afraid we don't just allow anybody to enter the castle. Forgive me if you've been in correspondence with my father, it's just, I myself was unaware of any expected arrivals today."

"Camelot?" Hermione repeated, her mind refusing to believe it. " _Camelot?"_ The flush from her cheeks was gone without a trace; she'd never been paler.

The young man was deeply amused now, revealing a set of charming dimples.

"And you're father is…?" Hermione asked, close to breathless.

He regarded her like she was stupid. "Uther Pendragon," he said slowly.

Hermione felt close to fainting. "Which makes you —" But she couldn't bring herself to say it.

"Arthur Pendragon," he declared, a little smugly, "Prince of Camelot. Heir to the throne. Future _king_." He was grinning now, proud and broad.

Hermione made a noise audible only to dogs. "King Arthur?" she gasped. " _The_ King Arthur?" But that wasn't possible. He was a myth, a fairytale, a legend. He was the stuff of literature and fantasy. He couldn't be _here._ And she'd thought he was Gryffindor! The reality was far more overwhelming.

" _Prince_ Arthur," he corrected, though he looked greatly flattered.

This had to be a dream, there was no other explanation. Hermione was _not_ stood in the presence of the legendary Arthur Pendragon.

He offered her another polite, deeply charming smile. "Have you travelled far to get here?"

Hermione was in such a state of daze that she almost didn't answer. "Unbelievably so."

"And you wish to seek solace in the castle?"

"Yes," she gulped, "I suppose so."

"Look, I'm not supposed to do this, but I'm sure my father would see no problem with accommodating an unexpected traveller. I mean, of course, providing you're"—Arthur blushed, struggling to get the words out—"well, that you're a—"

"A what?"

He offered her an apologetic look, as though embarrassed to ask. "That you're of, err, noble blood."

Hermione thought back to all the names she'd been called at Hogwarts. According to the likes of Draco Malfoy and his thuggish lackies, her blood was as far from noble as it could get.

"Of course," she lied.

Arthur inclined his head in an apologetic manner. "Forgive me for asking, my lady."

The rush of blood promptly returned to Hermione's cheeks.

"I should have known from your cloak—I've never seen such fine material before. My knowledge of needlecraft is pathetically limited, I'll admit, but I can see the intricacy of such weaving. It's really quite impressive."

Hermione had never been so excited to be wearing her Hogwarts uniform—save for maybe her very first day at the magic school. Of course, such modern knit work would be greatly superior to anything seen in medieval England, not to mention the synthetic materials the uniform was made of (polyester, no less), which wouldn't be created for hundreds of centuries. Just imagine if she'd been wearing jeans and a hoodie!

"We, ah, we don't have such _bold_ dress sense here in Camelot." Arthur glanced at her skirt, looking noticeably uncomfortable.

Hermione blushed again. Modest as it may be, with its pleats and knee-length hem, she realised how atrocious it must be for a woman to display one's legs in public. Especially for a woman of supposed nobility…

"This is my travelling outfit," Hermione said quickly, never having felt more self-conscious. "My, umm, my _real_ clothes were—were stolen!" She was wildly making it up on the spot, but what else could she do? Until she knew how to undo what had been done, Hermione needed to befriend as many people as she could, and having Arthur Pendragon on her side would certainly provide a huge advantage. She needed to play her part with confidence and grace.

"Not a problem—I'm sure Morgana will be happy to lend a dress or two." Arthur looked her up and down. "You look around her size, perhaps a little shorter. Guinevere will be able to take them up, I'm sure."

Hermione, despite her best efforts, found herself gaping again. "Morgana? Morgana and—and _Guinevere?"_

Legends, all of them! But, of course, if King Arthur was real, albeit only a prince, they were just as real. But Hermione knew the Arthurian legends well. Morgana was an evil sorceress, an enemy to Camelot! Why was Arthur associating with her? Why would she be willing to lend Hermione a dress?

"You've heard of Guinevere?" Arthur asked, torn between confusion and amusement.

"Of course," Hermione said enthusiastically. The love of Arthur and Guinevere was as renowned as Romeo and Juliet— _everybody_ knew their story. "I've heard great things," she encouraged, "about both of you." It was clear Arthur liked to be complimented, and approval of his wife was sure to go down well.

But to Hermione's disbelief, he just looked deeply confused. "I'm sorry but… you've heard great things about me and _Guinevere?"_

Hermione was starting to panic again. What had she said wrong? "She's well-respected where I come from," she said meekly. Wouldn't he have taken pride in Hermione speaking so well of his future queen?

"Don't get me wrong," Arthur said, "she's a very charming girl, and well-known and respected by almost everybody in Camelot, but it surprises me that her name is known so far outside the kingdom!"

Hermione was taken aback.

"She's only a maidservant after all, albeit a good one."

"A maidservant?" Hermione repeated. How could that be? Lady Guinevere, future Queen of Camelot—a _maidservant?_ In the legends, she was of unrivalled grace and nobility. Was it possible that there were multiple 'Guinevere's in the kingdom?

Hermione looked down, feeling embarrassed. "I apologise, I must be mistaken. Not the maidservant Guinevere, but the, err, _Lady._ "

Arthur met her with a blank expression.

"Your wife?" Hermione prompted, feeling even more embarrassed.

And then, to her horror, he began to laugh. Hermione panicked. Was she not yet his wife? Had Hermione been too presumptuous? Perhaps they were only in the early stages of 'courting,' as it were. The Arthur she was in the presence of was rather young, after all, not yet King.

Arthur's face was creased with mirth, and when he eventually settled for breath, he was unable to contain his clear amusement. "I don't know what kind of rumours have been travelling across the land, but clearly something's been lost in translation here. I myself am unwed—about as unwed as they come."

Hermione was mortified. "I am _so_ sorry—I shouldn't have said anything—I just thought—"

Arthur grinned at her, his eyes shining with reassuring kindness. "I'm afraid to disappoint, but my interests primarily lie in my duties to the kingdom. The time will come for me to take a wife, but I'm not looking for one quite yet."

Hermione let out an uneasy laugh. "Of course."

"What did you say your name was?"

"Hermione. Hermione Gr—" She stopped abruptly, a sudden idea coming into her head. "Gryffindor," she finished. Somehow 'Granger' didn't sound quite so noble.

"Gryffindor," Arthur repeated, looking deep in thought. "I think I've heard that before. What kingdom did you say you were from?"

"Hogwarts."

Arthur frowned. "Well, I've certainly never heard _that_ before. Is it far North?"

 _Grace and confidence_ , Hermione reminded herself. _You have to be convincing._ "Very far North," she confirmed. "Scotland, actually." Hermione froze. If that was true— which it was—how had the Time-Turner not only transported her centuries into the past but also to a completely different location? She wasn't even in the same country!

And that begged even more questions: Did Hogwarts even exist in this timeline? Weren't the Founders from the Medieval period? Was it possible that they were currently alive? She _had_ initially thought Arthur was Godric Gryffindor, after all.

"And that's your crest?" Arthur nodded to the red and gold crest of Gryffindor emblazoned on Hermione's robes.

Hermione nodded.

"Similar colours to Camelot," Arthur said with an approving smile. "But anyway, allow me to escort you to the castle. I'll talk to my father, and we'll get you some clothes and food; you must be starving after such a long journey."

Together, Hermione still a little bewildered by it all, they walked along the stone bridge that led to Camelot Castle. Both gaining confidence, they engaged in further conversation, both as intrigued by the other.

"So who's King of Hogwarts?"

Hermione had to restrain her laughter. She very nearly said Harry, but another name came to mind. "Dumbledore." Her heart ached a little at the memory of the former Headmaster. It seemed only fitting to her that he be king.

"And what brings you here to Camelot?"

"Just… travelling. My apologies for not having written in advance, it was unbelievably rude of me."

"Not at all. You travel alone?"

"Not normally," Hermione said sadly, "but yes, rather a lot recently, I've found myself alone." She felt a sudden sense of yearning for Harry and Ron. Would she ever see them again? It seemed beyond impossible. She hadn't even thought to retrieve the Time-Turner from the ground. It had seemed beyond repair.

"Not accompanied by your husband then?" Arthur appeared teasing, perhaps in light of her earlier faux pas, but Hermione felt uncomfortably hot under her collar.

"No—no husband," she gulped.

"Surely not?"

Hermione could only imagine how red her face must be. "Not exactly." Her throat had never felt so dry.

Arthur's interest seemed to have been piqued. He turned his head to look at her as they continued walking. "Not exactly?" he repeated. "You mean to say you're—"

"Accounted for."

Arthur was laughing again. "Accounted for? So you're—"

"Engaged," Hermione burst out.

How to explain the dynamics of her relationship? In truth, she'd never really defined her relationship with him, it was an uncomfortable matter, and difficult for them considering she had returned to Hogwarts and he had not. And yet, it felt dishonest to say she was 'unaccounted for.'

Although one thing was clear, they certainly _weren't_ engaged. She wasn't entirely sure why she'd said it.

"I see." Arthur grinned. "And does the lucky man have a name? If it's not impolite of me to ask," he added.

Hermione hesitated. "Lord, err, Weasley."

She could picture Ron laughing uproariously in her head.

"And he didn't present you with a ring?"

Hermione realised Arthur was staring intently at her hands, particularly the ring finger of her left hand, which was devoid of any ring. "It was stolen," she said. "Along with my other clothes…"

Arthur frowned. "I can send out a search party for these bandits if you can remember whereabouts you were robbed? My knights are the best in the kingdom, I can assure you."

"Knights of the Round Table," Hermione said wistfully. And she'd thought it all a legend!

"Excuse me?"

"The Knights of the—oh, never mind." Knowing her luck, Arthur hadn't even procured his legendary 'round table' yet. She was tempted to ask about Sir Lancelot—but then again, if Guinevere wasn't yet his queen, perhaps Lancelot wasn't in the picture yet either.

"We have legendary jousting tournaments in Camelot," Arthur boasted. "Men from all over the country compete with my knights—perhaps even some from Hogwarts?"

"We're not big on jousting," Hermione replied, struggling not to burst into laughter. The image of Ron in a suit of armour, charging at another man whilst riding a horse was too much for her imagination. Although, he had played the part rather well in their first year when trying to recover the Philosopher's Stone.

"You don't joust in Camelot?" Arthur looked confused. "Not at all?"

"Well, it's mostly just Quidditch."

"Quidditch?"

"It's, err, _sort_ _of_ like jousting," Hermione lied. "Only, it's a team sport and you, err, earn points and stuff."

"How so?"

"I'm not entirely sure of the rules." _That_ much was true.

"Lord Weasley plays?"

Hermione struggled to keep a straight face. "Yes, he does. He plays for the, err, Chudley Cannons." _In his dreams_ , she thought.

Arthur stared ahead again. "You must be proud."

"To be perfectly honest, I'm more a fan of the Holyhead Harpies myself."

They were nearing the end of the bridge now, the great castle looming in front of them. Hermione thought of Hogwarts with a longing ache in her heart. What had she _done?_ Time-Turners were dangerous objects to mess around with, and she should have known better. It wasn't clear to her how exactly she'd ended up in medieval Camelot, but her chances of returning to Hogwarts, let alone in her own timeline, seemed beyond scarce.

All she'd wanted was a little reminder of what it felt like to be adventurous, but _this_ adventure was beyond anything she'd prepared for.

"Merlin's beard," she muttered under her breath.

Arthur stopped abruptly by her side, a look of sheer amusement on his face. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, I just—"

"Did you say ' _Merlin's beard'?_ " He looked like he was going to wet himself with delight.

Hermione blushed. "It's just an expression."

"Merlin's chin is as bare as an egg, I can assure you. Even the thought of him attempting to grow a beard," Arthur snorted, more deeply amused than Hermione had ever seen a man.

But it was her turn to freeze. " _Merlin,"_ she gasped. _Of course!_ Her own excitement bubbled up. "Merlin is _here_ , in Camelot?"

Hermione couldn't believe it hadn't crossed her mind. Arthur, Morgana, Guinevere, Lancelot—they were real, and they were there—and of course that meant Merlin was there too. _Merlin_ , one of, if not _the_ _most_ powerful wizards of all time. They had textbooks about him back in her world—how could she ever have questioned the authenticity of the Arthurian Legend?

Merlin— _the_ Merlin—was there, in the flesh. And she was going to meet him!

Arthur looked less than enthused. "I can believe Guinevere at a stretch but _Merlin?_ How on earth does _his_ name travel so far?"

It was Hermione's turn to feel confused. "But he's Merlin! He's—"

"An absolutely nobody!"

That simply couldn't be true. Hermione knew the legend—Arthur and Merlin reigning over Camelot side by side, his magic universally commended. He and Arthur were lifelong friends, ruling in harmony over the kingdom. And even though Arthur wasn't yet king, why would he speak of Merlin in such a way?

Merlin was greatly respected, possessing the most honourable and powerful magic, not just in his time, but _all_ time. And besides, he and Arthur were friends!

"No, that can't be true," Hermione protested. "I mean, he's—"

"He's my _manservant_ ," Arthur snorted. "I don't know how his name ever fell so far up North. He's got a lot of explaining to do…"

"He's your manservant?"

"And not a very good one."

Hermione was more shocked by _this_ revelation than anything else that had happened to her all day. Guinevere—a maidservant? Morgana—kind and sharing? And _Merlin_ —Merlin was simply Prince Arthur's manservant?

How could that be possible?

"I'd very much like to meet him," Hermione announced, looking Arthur straight in the eye.

All traces of laughter were gone. "What on earth for?"

Perhaps this was the answer. If anybody was going to help Hermione get back to her own present then it was Merlin. But what was the most renowned and powerful wizard in all of history doing as a manservant?

There was only one way to find out.

"He's an old family friend of my, err, parents," Hermione said. _Even the notion._ "I have a message they'd like me to give him."

Arthur seemed satisfied with her answer. "I see." They'd just about approached the doors of the castle. "Well, first we'll need to speak with my father, then I'll have Guinevere settle you into your room and bring a couple of Morgana's dresses. You'd be more than welcome to join me for dinner in the Great Hall later."

Hermione's heart ached at the mention of such a room.

"And if you're not too tired, you can deliver your message to Merlin. Do let me know if he's irritating you, though—I'd be more than happy to have an excuse to throw him in the stocks for an afternoon."

Hermione seriously hoped he was joking. The greatest wizard that ever lived—in the stocks! It was all too surreal to fully comprehend.

"Oh, and one more thing." Arthur grinned at her with that same charming smile, dimples on full display. His eyes glimmered with kindness. "Lady Hermione: welcome to Camelot."

 _ **To Be Continued...**_

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 _ **Author's Note:** So I've always wanted to do a Merlin/HP crossover, and was ecstatic when it came up as a category during QLFC. Obviously, for the competition, it's a stand-alone piece, and I hope it still works well enough as one. But if anybody's interested, I'd really like to continue this after the competition's over :)_

* * *

 **Originally written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Season 3—Round 12**

 **Team:** Holyhead Harpies  
 **Position:** Captain  
 **Task:** Cross your story with a subcategory within 'TV' (Merlin)


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